


When I...

by silentdescant



Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Fantasy, M/M, Masturbation, POV First Person, Unnamed characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 22:01:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9517943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: Fantasies/confessions written in a first person POV





	

When I think about your cock, my mouth waters. You’re so big, so much bigger than me, in every way. I know I shouldn’t compare, but I can’t help myself. I look at my own dick in my hand, as I’m touching myself when I’m alone, and I imagine yours instead. I think about how much thicker you are, how my fingers would stretch. I salivate at the thought of holding you in my fist and licking every inch. You would stretch my mouth so wide, and you’d push deep too. All the way to the back of my throat. I want to gag on it. I want you to thrust into me and make it so I can’t breathe, so I can’t think. I can practically taste you already. I know the scent of your sweat so well. I’ve tasted your skin. I can imagine how your cock would feel in my mouth, how you’d overwhelm my senses. I think about that inexplicably ginger hair curling around the base of your cock and how it would tickle my nose as I sucked you. I would grip your thighs and inhale the scent of you, and I can already feel your hand at the back of my head, grabbing my hair to hold me still as you drive deeper into my throat. Please cut off my air until all I can breathe is you.

When there’s drool on my lips and I’m gagging on nothing, I close my eyes and rub my fingertips against my hole. I know how big you are, and how much you would stretch me. I know you’d be careful, pushing your thick fingers into my ass, but I don’t care if you’re rough. I want it. I want to feel you for days. I want that visceral reminder that you’ve taken me, that you own me. I use a dildo and pretend it’s you. It’s not even shaped like a real cock, and there’s nothing about it that reminds me of you other than its thickness, and how far I can push it in. My body opens up for it so eagerly, and I know it would be even better with a real cock, with you, hot and wet and throbbing with tightly coiled energy.

When I fuck myself with the dildo, it’s not great. It’s not like it would be with you. I can’t grip it well, and it hurts my wrist to thrust it so quickly in and out, at least when I’m on my back, spread open with my hand reaching between my legs. I sometimes try it on my knees, reaching behind, and that’s better. That would be good, I think, if you would fuck me that way. Push down on my shoulders so my ass is exposed for you. It just doesn’t work when I’m alone. I crave the weight of your body. I want your hands bruising my skin. I want to struggle to breathe, pinned like a butterfly beneath you.

When I come, I always imagine you orgasming too. I think about you painting my face with your release, the hot splash of it on my skin, and how it would drip across the bridge of my nose or the bow of my lips or the point of my chin. I want to taste it, and I lick my lips every time as if it’s really there, in reach of my tongue. I even lick my lips when I imagine you coming in my ass, pumping deep inside me and claiming me so completely. I imagine how that warmth would spread in my gut as you take over my body, and I pretend I can feel it dripping out with the wet remnants of lube. I push my fingers into my ass and choke on the thought of how loose I feel after you’ve fucked me. I think about touching your come with my fingers, like confirmation. I smear the wet residue of the lube and your imaginary come on my thighs, the smooth stretch of skin up high between my legs, where I’m already slick with sweat.

When the wet tracks cool on my skin it makes me shiver, and I trace patterns through the puddle of my own come on my belly until it does the same. I’m filthy in my own mind, covered in you from head to toe, shuddering and shivering as you look at me. As I imagine you looking at me. I don’t like to open my eyes. Instead, I imagine the weight of your icy gaze, taking in every dirty, destroyed inch of my body. I’m on display for you, and I only wish you could see.

 

 _fin_.


End file.
